Can't Keep Me Waiting
by I wish I wasn't tone-deaf
Summary: Sakura, accomplished, active student of the student council and Syaoran, the praised soccer captain, drifted apart since their awkward days and finally meet for senior superlatives. ONESHOT


Why does this always happen? Every time I have something _really_ important to do, like FINAL EXAM ESSAYS, I make up oneshots.  
>I've been working on this one for a while and I didn't know how to end it until many months later.<p>

Disclaimer: I don't not own CCS

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><p>I've always thought she was a little boring.<p>

I mean, look at her. Her presence screams boring. She sits alone by the bleachers, isolated from the cheerleaders and jocks dispersed among the soccer field.

"Hey, Syaoran!"

I turn around and it's one of the guys from the team heading for the locker room. He's so sweaty he strips his jersey in public. Some cheerleaders around us swoon and I roll my eyes. Please, it's only 70 degrees out. He's one of those guys that use Seijuu's renowned soccer team as an attention-getter. He winks at a swooning maiden before turning to me, "You coming with us to eat-out afterwards?"

"Naw, I'm busy. Thanks, though. See ya," I wipe the sweat from my brow and wave as he shrugs and shuffle to the locker room.

From the corner of my eye, I spot a girl tugging down her shorts and her sports bra. It's one of the cheerleaders. I can't tell which one it is but she walks by me and wiggles her fingers, "Bye, Syaoran."

I grin and nod before my eyes wander to its previous domain. It's cloudy but she shades her camera and clicks through her pictures. I don't know when she started losing her eyesight but she takes off her glasses and rubs her eye before putting them back on. I was probably too preoccupied then to notice. I could say she was pretty enough for me to notice but I've always thought she was better looking than most, not gorgeous nor plain. But how long does outer beauty last? Sounds a little fruity but to tell you the truth, she's got this inner beauty. I've seen her kindness directed at everyone and knowing her, she'd probably still be smiling from ear-to-ear if all her teeth were gone by age 60. Her elbows rests on her knees and the way she sits reminds me of man. Last I remember, she was way taller than me but that was then. But now, I can't say I know how tall she is now, but I know she towers over most of the girls at our school. But she can't be taller than me, I mean, I'm taller than most guys. She tugs at the collar of her shirt that says 'Tomoeda's Fifth Annual 5k run'. She stretches her jean-covered legs over the bleachers in front of her and uses the heel of her sneakers to scratch at her ankle. She gets comfortable and stretches her arms over the bleachers behind her. She yawns and jiggles her foot.

I can't keep her waiting so I head her way. She sees me coming, brightens, and straightens out.

She takes her camera strap over her head while I sit beside her. Suddenly, I'm conscious of how I smell. I should've met her after I showered myself. But I couldn't wait. And it's too late to back out now. I start, "You wanted to see me?"

"Yeah," she politely grins and pushes her glasses on the bridge of her nose. The glasses make her green eyes more pronounced than I remember, "I need your picture for senior superlatives. Congratulations, by the way, on winning 'Most Likely to Succeed'."

I nod and chuckle, "Likewise. 'Most Atheletic', am I right?" Of course I'm right. Her name sharing space on the same list that I'm on? The school broadcast announcing our names for senior superlatives has been engraved in my memory. Okay, just because I find her a bit boring doesn't mean I don't find her interesting.

"Yeah," she smiles, "Thanks. So," she pats the camera on her lap, "Are you okay with me taking your picture now or what? Personally, I think you look great with the messy, post-practice look."

"Oh, geez," I tug at my jersey and stand, "Sorry, I'll be right back."

"What? Wait-"

I don't hear the rest of it. I don't want to look back with my sweaty, red face (most likely from her).

…

I wasn't having a good day when she first talked to me after so many years.

That morning my mom was getting on my back about not attending enough formal dinners, I got a C for my Calculus test (my supposedly best subject), my neck was aching from practice, and Meiling was getting on my back about declining some girl's invitation for homecoming. Eriol said I was having a bad day. Meiling said I was more of a grumpy jerk than usual.

I swung the library doors open as I rubbed my neck. I just needed to be alone and get my head together. I can't get peace at my locker, too many people saying 'what's up'. I can't get peace in the cafeteria, too loud. I can't get peace at the benches outside, too cold and somebody would be bound to say 'hi'. The library was my sanctuary for days like these.

I sat at one of the couches and laid my head on the head rest. I know how crazy it must've looked but I closed my eyes and rubbed my neck on the couch. My pounding head and aching neck was fading away until-

"Um, hey."

I stopped rubbing my neck on the couch and opened my eyes. Green eyes and short, light brown hair. I sat up straight and turned around. She smiled and waved, "Sorry to interrupt," she whispered. Why apologize? Good friends don't apologize. When did we get so polite with each other? "I need to meet you sometime for yearbook, if that's alright?"

"Yeah." I trailed out. I had seen her around often but talking to her is a different matter.

"When are you available?" She stuffed her hands in the pockets of her peacoat.

"Not today," I had business at mother's company. The holiday season was approaching and there's no rest for corporate. "How about," I paused and sighed, "sometime next week?"

"Sure," she shrugged, "as long as you're not busy. Can I meet you after practice? Yearbook's pretty busy itself this time of year."

I nodded as she grinned and walked away.

Just as promised, I didn't see her again until today. My hair is still dripping wet, but I can't keep her waiting. Trying not to look too worried, I power-walked to the field. She's not there. But her brother is. It's funny that I talk to the brother that hates me more than I talk to the sister I was good friends with. Coach Touya walks around the field picking up cones. I try and slide out of view before he hollers at me to help him pick up equipment.

"Hey, you little brat! I see you!"

Too late.

He has called me a brat ever since Sakura and I were small. I think he's just jealous that he pushed away his little sister-unknowingly, to me-while he was busy with high school back then. But it's different now, it's 'Coach Touya' while he still calls me 'brat'. I sigh and throw my duffle bag and backpack on a bench before trudging his way. I open one of the mesh bags while Coach Touya stuffs the cones inside.

"Thanks," he mutters and I nod and grab my stuff. I walk away but he mumbles, "Wait."

I stop and spin on my heel. He's glaring as usual, but what did I do wrong? I can't tell. His glare is concrete. He glares when he's shouting commands and praising us on goals. He's a stone-face. He picks up the two mesh bags and continues, "Sakura said she's sorry but she had to go to a fitting at Tomoyo's house."

"Oh, okay. Thanks."

Just as I remember, she was nice enough to acknowledge me.

…

I hear about him as the strong, dark, silent type. But he's none of those things, at least from what I remember. He's just introverted. He doesn't talk a lot because he doesn't need to. He's the speak-unless-spoken-to type and that's how I met him.

"Sakura! Hold still!" Tomoyo ruffles the skirt on my thigh and I force myself not to scratch at it. I sigh.

We were nine and he had the same messy, brown hair he has today. I don't think he'll ever outgrow that hairstyle. Good thing it suits him. He moved to Tomoeda from China. I went up to him and flashed my pearly whites and stuck out my hand. I greeted him with a 'nǐ hǎo' to make him feel welcomed but he answered monotonously with 'Ohayo'. His Japanese was awfully formal but he loosened up as I invited him to play on the swing set but soccer was his forté. Eventually, it was normal for us to be buddies in the buddy-system for field trips. He was awfully cute, too. He grew out of that but he's just as pleasant-looking as the Syaoran I once knew.

Pleasant-looking? More like hot. Maybe even more so. But you get used to that kind of stuff when you have an older brother that all the girls-from one to 91-fawn over. Yet with Syaoran, I think no matter how old he looks, he's still the same boyish Syaoran I knew. Introverted, shy, Mr. Soft-spoken. Or grumpy, he was always a grumpy one. If I had to choose senior superlatives, I'd plaster his name for 'Most Likely to Grow Up to Shout at Kids to Get Off His Lawn'.

He's not old enough to be 'old-person spacey'. But he's a little spacey, you know what I mean? Always has other things on his mind, like his mother's company or maybe something I can relate to like, hectic college admissions. It's no wonder that I witnessed the poor junior cheerleader who vainly emphasized her junk at the absent-minded Syaoran today.

"Ow!" I jumped.

"Sorry," Tomoyo giggles, sadistic as she is. Miss 'Best to Take Home to Meet the Parents' of senior superlatives takes out the pin from my thigh and pokes it through the cloth instead. She giggles again, "You just look like you're elsewhere."

I huffed, "So, you stab me?"

"Is it Syaoran?"

I sigh and stuff a cookie in my mouth, "I can't wait for him when I know you'd go ape-shit if I'm late."

"Oh, damn," she pouts, "it's my fault?"

"No, no," I wave a hand to dismiss her comment, "It's mine. I should've spoken up and taken the picture right then and there."

"Geez, what'd you do to chase him away?"

"I said he looked great with the messy, post-practice look," I wipe some crumbs from the cloth as Tomoyo pins away, "But he must've thought I was being sarcastic."

"Aw, don't worry about it," Tomoyo checks me up-and-down and pats my shoulder. We make eye contact in her triple-sectioned mirror. I'm pouting and she's smiling, "You'll have your chance."

I cross my arms, "It's just a picture."

"I meant, figuratively, you'll have your chance."

I know what she means but I shrug it off, "How long has it been since we've last talked?"

"You and Syaoran?" Tomoyo taps her chin and gestures for me to take off the dress. When I poke my head out of the dress and stand in my slip, she sews away and replies, "It was middle school when you guys drifted apart. I'm guessing it's been five years. Well," she grins, "It's about time you two had a little chit-chat."

Five years ago was when it was official that we were acquaintances. The type of acquaintances I hate the most, where you guys were friends but as you grow you don't take the time to talk to each other and small talk is useless. You get new friends, more friends and there's no effort for each other anymore. It was a long time ago that I had a crush on Syaoran but it's sad that it's simply satisfactory for me that we had a chance to talk today.

Five years ago I had some super, crazy growth spurt and now I'm nearly tall as Touya and my dad. But back then, I mean, a 12 year-old 5'6" and growing? Of course I was embarrassed. Back then, my head was always hung low, I grew my hair out to curtain my face, and I hunched all because I felt like Big Bird, minus the mechanical eyes, fluffy feathers, and goofy voice. That was when Syaoran was getting his growth spurt, too. Its fine for a guy to be tall but for a girl? Please, that's like social suicide. Thus, Syaoran's not as strong as people think he is. Instead of-at the very least-acknowledging me, he succumbed to his new friends that snubbed me and my aurora that just screamed insecure. But I grew out of it because I still had friends to see past my insecurities. And Syaoran? Well, he was somewhere in the picture. Behind the canvas. You know, he's there but I don't bother turning the picture around just to acknowledge it. Maybe I look at it every once in a while and nod and grin while I'm passing by it in the corridor but it's not enough to make a permanent appearance.

Five years ago all signs pointed to unpopular, so how'd I make it to one of the most coveted senior superlatives? Easy. Being nice. Being equal. I acknowledge everybody. 'Hey, what's up, stu-co president?' 'How's it going, kid-that-always-hangs-out-in-the corner?' 'Hope your mother's surgery went well, captain of the cheer squad.' There isn't time for everybody, but your name gets around when you're taking pictures for yearbook and join at least one sport every season. Not to brag-just kidding, I'm bragging, but often, my wins are broadcasted on Seijuu-High's morning news shows and I'm up there on each classroom screen smiling with Rika and her microphone.

Tomoyo stashes her dress in her closet full of 'in-progress' outfits and holds up her Nikon SLR, "Do you still want my camera?"

…

I have to wait the whole weekend to see Sakura at school, but even at school, I don't see or hear from her. It isn't until fourth period that a student aide calls me up to room K-121, the room that the Yearbook Committee often uses.

The hall is quiet and my footsteps make a click-clack sound. I hope I don't sound too anxious so I slow my steps. I unlatch the one of the double doors to the lecture room. I look around the vast room, past the chairs, and toward the front.

"Come in," Tomoyo smiles. She sits on a table with her camera on her lap.

I step in and head down the front of the room, "Uh, hey. Is this for senior superlatives?"

She nods and smiles apologetically, "Sakura would do it if she wasn't busy constructing the set for the winter musical," she sighs before gleaming and holding up her camera, "Ready?"

I stand a little straighter as Tomoyo counts down. I wait for the flash and grin. When we're done she lets me check out my picture. It's just as I expected, smiling but not enough to reach my eyes. She leads me to the door and opens it for me. I head out but she speaks before I leave, "By the way, the theater doors are always open." She winks and closes the door behind her.

I scrunch my face in confusion and let her quote lead my feet. I end up in front of the theater's doors and the bell rings signaling the end of fourth period. The doors open and I jump. Students scramble out and second glance at me but I look past them and into the theater. When the crowd disperses, I step in. It's dark but only the stage is illuminated with an incomplete set. I use it as my north star. Just then, Sakura comes out from behind the set stirring paint in a brush.

I catch her eye but suddenly, she looks frantic and shouts, "Watch out!"

"Oof!" My face hurts and I hear steps coming toward me. She touches my arm and helps me up, "Are you alright?" She's taller than I remember. Almost as tall as me, nearly six feet.

I chuckle, "What tripped me?"

She bites her lip, "One of the leftover wooden boards," She laughs, "Are you okay?"

I pat her hand on my arm with my own and smile, "I'm fine."

She chuckles and slips her hands off my arm. She bends down to pull the stray wooden board out of the way and I take the other end, "Thanks," she mutters and brushes her hands across her jeans. From what I remember, she brushes her hands on her pants to wipe away any excess sweat from her nervousness.

She gleams, "What are you doing here?"

"Um," what am I doing here? I shrug, "Uh, I just wanted to let you know that I got my senior superlative picture taken."

"Aw, geez. Sorry about that."

"No, it's fine."

"Um," she shrugs, "Is that it?"

"Wha- No, no," I stutter, "It's, uh, been a while, huh?"

She nods, "Yeah, how are you?"

"Good," I point to her face and her eyebrows jump, "When did you get glasses?" Heh, good conversation starter.

She touches the side of her glasses, "Oh, these? Just two years ago. My eyes deteriorated from reading so many books in dim-lighting."

"Ah," I nodded, "I didn't know. Although I should have."

She smiles apologetically, "Well, did you know the drama club was doing Legally Blonde for the winter musical?"

I shake my head and smile sheepishly. How was I supposed to know that when I got a C in Calculus? She laughs, "No? I didn't know either, until Ms. Fukada called me up to help out." She waved a hand to dismiss my comment, "Let's just say that makes us even."

"Alright, then." My eyes drop to the floor, trying to come up with inspiration for conversation, but she relieved me from the stress.

"Don't you have class?" She points to my backpack.

I tug at the strap and shrug, "Yeah, they don't care if I'm late." I scratch my head and rub my neck. I think my face is red. Good thing we're in dim-lighting. I can barely grasp what I'm feeling. All I know is that I feel adrenaline rush through me, "Next period…sixth period. Do you have a sixth period?"

"No, it's free," she shakes her head and her short, light brown hair sways side-to-side. "You?"

I shake my head and blurt out, "Wanna hang out? I mean, it's been a while."

I might be wrong, but she seems to gleam as she laughs, "Of course! Did you have anything in mind?"

"Maybe," I smile and chuckle, "Ice cream?"

…

I button my peacoat and although it's freezing outside I wipe my sweaty palms across my jeans. I shouldn't say I hate waiting when I'm usually late for most things but I hate waiting for him like this. I mean, we don't talk for five years and he just suddenly busts out with 'hey, how 'bout some ice cream?' I squat by the bike rack, rub my hands together, and huff. Even when we were good friends, he didn't keep me waiting like this.

I hear footsteps behind me and Syaoran comes jogging. I stand to my feet while he's grinning with flushed cheeks and wind-wrecked hair. "Sorry," he tugs at his backpack strap, "I bumped into Touya and he told me to be back by two."

"Geez, really? Did you tell him I was gonna be with you?" Maybe I'm overly self-conscious but I hope Syaoran didn't sense the embarrassing glee I felt when I said 'be with you'.

"He told me to tell you that he needs you at soccer practice to help out and," he trails the conjunction as he remembers, "Oh yeah, and something about beating me up if I do anything to you."

I laugh, turn around, and start walking. I blame my flushed face on the harsh weather, "I haven't heard that in a while."

He walks beside me, "Kinda refreshing."

"You like hearing threats? That's so S&M, Syaoran. After all these years, I didn't know you had such a side!"

"No! Not that! It's just nice to hear, you know, Touya thinking…that way," he groans and rubs his face, "You know what I mean."

"Oh, I do. A sentimental feeling, right?" My teeth chatter, not because of the cold but because of all the adrenaline flowing within me. I label it as nervousness but I could label it as excitement. Honestly, I don't think I should. It's just Syaoran.

He snaps his fingers, "Yes! Exactly!"

We're laughing and he's just the same as I remember. He needs to get his social juices flowing before he bursts and blooms like a glazier. We're nearly the same height but when he talks to me, he has to bend his neck just to make eye-contact. I find it slightly intimidating and I wonder if people ever feel the same when I talk to them. My teeth fade away from chattering and my adrenaline gets me rambling on and on about Tomoyo and her crazy outfit designs. His eyes gleam and his mouth is constantly agape into a smile. I hope his cheeks aren't getting tired.

…

We step in unison closer and closer to the ice cream shop and I remind myself of Eriol's words of wisdom: 'Open the door for her'. To be honest, I don't need Mr. 'Best to Take Home to Meet the Parents' to tell me what to do. My mother taught me all the ways of chivalry. She stuffed that doctrine into my head so much that I know it like the back of my hand.

Suddenly, Sakura rushes ahead and opens the door for an elderly lady with a walker exiting the ice cream shop.

"Oh, thank you, Sakura," the elderly lady smiles and marches her walker down the sidewalk as Sakura grins and waves at her retreating figure, "No biggie, Granny Hamada!"

My plans fail as she opens the door for me, "I didn't know you had a grandma," I inquire.

She shakes her head, "No, I call all the ladies in senior dimensions my grandma and vice versa with my grandpas."

I don't inquire anymore because I already knew that senior dimensions was one of her many volunteer activities. My mom said she bumped into Sakura a couple of months ago when she dropped off a cake for our great, great, great grand uncle-one of the elders. Yup, this was the inner beauty I was talking about.

I gesture to a booth by the window and we sit in silence, watching the window as decaying leaves dangle before floating with the wind. We hear click-clacks and the waitress comes around, notepad ready and a pen poised. She beams, especially at me, "What'll you have today?"

Sakura lifts a finger, "Uh-"

I get my chance to show off some chivalry and endearing familiarity, so I stop her, "One chocolate and one strawberry. Three scoops each, please."

The waitress scribbles and nods, "Coming right up!"'

Sakura manages to squeak out, "Thanks," before the waitress disappears behind the counter. Sakura whips her head at me with the stink eye, "How'd you know?"

I smirk and shrug, "How could I not? You even salivate if I say 'strawberry'."

She looks everywhere but me. "I do not," she says as she wipes some drool from the corner of her mouth.

I prop my jaw on my hand, "You haven't changed a bit."

Sakura raises a brow, her mouth agape, ready to speak, but the waitress pops up with two bowls of ice cream, "Here you are!" She hands us our bowls and winks at me before leaving.

"The same to you," Sakura scoops some pink ice cream and points her spoonful at me, "I think the only thing that changed is your increasing fan club."

"But don't you think an increasing fan club correlates to my increasing good looks?" I wink. Her spoon is in her mouth and she hesitates to remove it. Sakura snorts, "Oh yeah, and your head just grew hotter, you little pompous brat."

I nearly choke, "You almost made me snort out my ice cream. If you did, what a waste. Then you'd owe me."

"No, no, no," she points her spoon at me again. She slightly glares and I'll admit it. She's looks threatening with a spoon, "You owe me. After all these years, you owe me an explanation. Why this? Why now?"

"Why not?"

"Fallacy! I will not take another question as an answer."

She's huffing as she scoops from her bowl, waiting for an answer. I look out the window, thinking of an answer whilst trying to look cool but my knee jiggles under the table. I turn to her with an answer in mind and her spoon is still poised in her mouth. Despite her frustration, I grin and sigh, "Because I miss your face."

It's her turn to nearly choke. I hand her napkins while she clutches her throat. I can't help smirking as the waitress from before gives us a strange look. Sakura coughs, sighs and brushes her fingers through her hair. Her cheeks are flushed, eyes a bit watery as she grabs the napkins I hand her and wipes her mouth. "Dammit, Syaoran," she shakes her head, "That's hella cheesy. Where'd you learn that from?"

"Eriol."

"Before he officially terminated his playboy days and went exclusive with Miss 'Best to Take Home to the Parents'?"

"No, before he officially went off the fringe and met Tomoyo."

…

I crumbled sheets of paper I found in my locker. No more books. No more messy papers stuffed. No more papers to write! Until fall college semester but hey, I got this in the bag. More preferably, I got this in the TU duffle bag. Tokyo University, here I come!

It was all empty, except for a couple of pictures I plastered on the door. Polaroids of me and Tomoyo, the senior class picture, student council, yearbook committee, and last but not least, me and Syaoran. Not when we were younger at the fresh faces of 11 but when our faces became a little sculpted at 18. I don't have to flip through my old scrapbooks just find pictures of me and Syaoran. There are pictures of us on facebook, in my locker, and last I checked, in his locker, too. I have more at home but I picked two for my locker. In one picture, we're in the soccer field. Sweat pooled around his jersey on his pits, chest, and back but I don't mind when he slung his arm around me because I was so happy that he won Regionals and we got our acceptance letters to TU. In the other picture, we're at Eriol's house, having our own little, after-prom party. We secluded ourselves from the rest of the small population of the senior class in Eriol's mansion and found Eriol's study. Apparently, Tomoyo hung out with Eriol many times because Syaoran and I found her camera in his study. We looked through playback and found a whole bunch of cute pictures, then I snapped one of Syaoran, he snapped one of me, and he pressed his cheek against mine as he snapped another. I wanted to take the picture, but he said his arms were longer.

Tomoyo gave me that picture a few days later and winked at me. It's plastered in the center amongst the many of my senior year memories. In the picture, our faces were flustered and our cheeks bunched together. He wore a green tie to match with his date. Hint, hint. I wore a light, green shawl over my emerald dress.

The way he asked me to the prom was so cute. Tomoyo tied a bandana around my eyes and I tripped on the stairs. She helped me up, but not without a giggle. I held the bleachers' railing as Tomoyo unwrapped the bandana around my face and I opened my eyes to rows and columns of orange cones in the soccer field. Plain and simple, 'Prom?' But Syaoran dressed for the occasion with a tuxedo, a green tie, and a box with a long, green dress to replace the cargo shorts and windbreaker I wore that day.

I wouldn't say it was the best time of my life because even though Syaoran was my date, I still had trouble figuring out his signals (if he had any). He asked me to the prom (in the cutest way possible), held my hand, even spent the after-party with me, and plastered his copy of the picture in his locker. Sometimes, he says random lines, 'Hey, beautiful, how 'bout some ice cream today?', 'Come to my house. My mother would love to see you', 'Next Saturday, don't make any plans. I've got the whole day planned out for us'. But alas, I've never earned the most coveted 'Will you go out with me?'

I sighed. Lately, Tomoyo has been nagging me. It's the 21st century. Girls can come right out and say their feelings, too, she says. And Eriol comes along with his own little threat that he'll take matters in his own hands just to end this little charade and actually make a relationship out of it. I don't know what that means but just imagining what that sneaky, little pest Eriol can do just makes me cringe.

"OMG! I haven't gotten my yearbook, yet! What about you?"

"Totally. Look in the back; it lists how many times we were shown."

"Awesome. I got 5 times. Wait, you gotta tell me how you got your yearbook!"

I take down the photos and stuff them in my binder. The cutest picture ever, the prom after-party picture; I stuff that one in my pocket. I shut my locker and tapped one of the underclassmen's shoulder. She turned around and there was no sign of confusion etched on her face until I called her by name, "Hey, Ito. You can go to the cashier in the lobby to get your yearbook."

"Oh, thanks, Sakura!"

I smile, nod and walk away, but not without hearing, 'how did she know my name?' I grin as everybody down the hall flips through and signs yearbooks. Some people start to point at me and my grin wavers. Some of their faces redden when I make eye contact but they dive back into their yearbook. I haven't gotten my yearbook, yet. But now I'm starting to wonder if all the work I did in the yearbook committee, that maybe somewhere along the line, I made a mistake.

I head to the lecture hall where Tomoyo said she'd be. I unlatched the knob and head down to the front while Tomoyo smiles, "Did you get your yearbook?"

"No, but," I lean on the teacher desk she's sitting on, "Being editor and all, did I do a bad job on the yearbook?"

"No, not at all. Would you like to see it? I saved you one." She hands me the thick book and I thumb through it. I turn to the back and check out how many times my face was shown: 38 times. Pretty swell. The usual is there: freshman pictures, sophomore, junior, and senior, along with cute senior ads. I turn to the very last page, where Tomoyo seemed to write an entire letter to me with a couple of doodles. I turn to her and we share a smile.

Tomoyo pouts, "What made you so uneasy? I think you did a great job."

I sigh and shut the yearbook, "On my way here, some kids were staring at me. You know, more than usual. I mean, what's all that about?"

"Hmm, strange."

We hear the door unlatch and Eriol strides in with a bright smile, "Hey, you two. Great job on the yearbook, by the way."

Tomoyo glows just as brightly and as Eriol makes his way down to the desk, they seem to share and bask in an odd, victorious glow. Tomoyo still glows as she pouts again, "Thanks, but Sakura here thinks she did an inadequate job."

"Miss Editor-in-Chief?" he questions me, "Now, why would that be? You did a fantastic job. Everyone in the yearbook committee exceeded the standard and went beyond this year. Everyone."

"I guess," I raise a brow. Everyone, he says. I whip my head at Tomoyo, who is the only one in this room that is on the yearbook committee with me, but she briefly smiles at me before she adoringly stares at Eriol, her one and only. "Hey, hey, hey," I snap my fingers and they quit their basking but they're still glowing, "Playing oblivious here? What did you guys do?"

They share a confused expression. Just then, Syaoran bursts through the door with his copy of the yearbook in hand. He pants as he makes his way down to the desk and slams his copy.

…

Sakura jumps as I slammed my yearbook. I blush but I hope my flustered state is confused for running here, past everybody's stares.

"Is that even authorized?" I catch my breath, "To take our picture and put it in the yearbook like that?"

Tomoyo straightens from her chair, "Although I bring that camera home with me, it's still school property. I have every right to put it in its rightful place in the yearbook."

Eriol smirks, "It's such a lovely picture and endearingly captioned, I might add."

"What's the matter?" Sakura panicks and grips Tomoyo's shoulders, "I did do something wrong, did I?"

I shake my head. I've caught my breath this time and put it down firmly to prevent Sakura's exaggeration, "It's not you."

She peers at me and squeaks, "It's not me?"

"It's them."

"Hoe?" Sakura is just as confused as ever when Eriol butts in, "Aw, come on, Syaoran. You can't possibly hate it."

Sakura grips her yearbook copy, "It? What's it?"

"No," I sheepishly reply, "But it's not the truth, either."

Tomoyo stands, gathers her things, pats Sakura's head, and links her arm around Eriol's. She smirks, "Now, that's up to you," then she smiles, "And Sakura, too." They head out of the lecture hall, leaving me with a panicking Sakura.

"What is it, Syaoran?" She towers over all the girls in our school and dresses alike to a guy, but she's all-girl to me. She grips the yearbook and her eyes turn watery. She must've noticed me eyeing the book because she peers down at it and begins to open its covers.

"No, no," I gently take the book from her and hold it in front of me. Coincidentally and effectively, the book is highlighted beneath one of the lights, "There's something that needs to be confirmed, first."

Her brows furrowed, scared. She nods, "Okay."

"And it depends on whether you say yes or no, Sakura. Understand?"

She shakes her head, "No."

I sigh, "Right, of course. But answer me, anyway."

"Alright."

"Everything in this yearbook is perfect. Absolutely perfect. Except for one thing that needs to be the truth."

"Yes, yes! What is it?"

"Sakura."

She's getting pissy, now. She crosses her arms and makes her best diva stance. She glares, akin to Coach Touya, "Syaoran?"

"Sakura," I smile because I'm sure of it, "Will you be my girlfriend?"

"Hoe?"

…

So, forget all that crap I said about the picture of me and Syaoran at the prom after-party being the cutest picture ever because our senior yearbook tops all that. Eriol wasn't lying when he said he'll take matters into his own hands and end our little charade and make it bloom into a relationship.

I smile as I shelf the yearbook on my bookcase. I sigh and flop onto my bed. I snicker as I remember Touya clasping my neck into his arm and digging his knuckles into my head. I hate noogies, but that had to be the most loving noogie he ever gave me. "Pretty cute", he said and then he whispered in my ear, "If he ever makes you cry, I'll pound him into oblivion."

"Sakura," Tomoyo knocks and I let her into our dorm. Box in hand, she nudges her chin to the window, "I just saw Syaoran outside. Going out on a date?"

I rush to the window and Syaoran's outside the building. His hands are fisted into his coat pocket and he jumps to get some warm blood running into his veins despite the breezy, fall wind. I giggle, "Yeah."

"Make sure you wear that cute outfit we bought last week." She sighs as she puts down her box and looks around our dorm, "I think I've just about unpacked everything."

"It's perfect," I grin and open my closet. I throw the clothes Tomoyo bought me on my bed and change. Before I leave the dorm, I check myself in the mirror and nod. Everything's swell. I grab my phone and purse. Just in case it gets any colder, I grab my TU sweater. I'm ready to go, but I almost forgot one thing. I kiss my two fingers and tap them onto my scanned copy of the one page of our Senior Superlatives from our yearbook. It's our prom, after-party picture. Our flushed faces, his green tie and tuxedo, the green dress he bought me, my make-up enhanced face, and his cheek up against mine. It was captioned: 'Sakura and Syaoran: Voted Cutest Couple Ever' and subtexted: 'Courtesy of Eriol Hiiragizawa and future Tomoyo Hiiragizawa, Yearbook Sub-editor'.

I didn't know such a senior superlative existed. But I don't mind. I peer out the window again. This time, Syaoran smiles and waves.

Tomoyo folds her clothes and I kiss her cheek, "I'm off, Tomoyo. Can't keep him waiting."

* * *

><p>I switched POVs a lot, but I tried to keep it as recognizable as possible.<p>

Hope you enjoyed!


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